


Filling the Void

by FadedSepia



Series: Chasing Stars [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, In the snap, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Starbuck - Freeform, copious snark and mindfuck, first kiss sort of, giftfic, not sure if hurt/comfort because it's not particularly comforting, post snap, vivid descriptions of being exploded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia
Summary: After the snap, Bucky and Peter find nothing except each other.





	Filling the Void

**Author's Note:**

> A gift that I promised to get up before _**Endgame**_ dropped. Just did make it. Major thanks to the MCU Bad Decision Buddies Discord Server for supporting the push to finish this, to Clara for the idea, and to Anna (reystarkrogers here, @bart0nclint on tumblr) for beta-reading this after that midnight typing rush.
> 
> I did check character death and violence on the warnings, so **BE WARNED** : There is a description of suicide (not sure if completed or attempted it's appropriate here without spoiling) and self harm. I did not put down major character death because it's not, quite.
> 
> ⸙•☆•⸙

James didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. How he could feel it, but he could. It was worse – he’d never thought anything could be _worse_ – than the wipes. Than the current and the shocks and the cold. That had been painful. That had been real. That had been _something_. This, though. **_This_ _!_**

The last true thought through James’s mind was that now he truly knew what it was to be unmade.

⸙•☆•⸙

James Barnes opened his eyes onto… nothing. Blank, white, endless nothing. Solid beneath him, flat and… flat. There was no texture, no temperature beneath his cheek.  No horizon line as he stared down the length of his outstretched arm.

He pushed himself up to sitting, looked down at the rest of him. There was his uniform, body armour, rifle, legs. Everything was here, but here was nowhere. Mindful to maintain his position, he looked, again, turning a slow circle and checking for any hint of something; a wall, a shift in elevation, a reflection, even just a change in the brightness of the glow.

There! It was a ways off, but let him know there was a sort of fog in the air. If what passed as the floor – or was it the ground? – was flat, then the thing was at least a mile out. He broke into a run, hoping whatever it was could help.

⸙•☆•⸙

Peter Quill opened his eyes, staring up at the most murderous panicked stare he’d ever seen. He blinked, trying to wash out the memory of his arm ceasing to exist. “Are… are you God?”

“No. Glad you speak English, though.” Panicky Murder Angel leaned back, and now Peter could tell that he – sounded like a _he_ at least – had been crouched and poking his shoulder.

He sat up, face dropping into his palm. Seeming to have settled now that Peter was awake, Murder Angel scooted to an arm’s length away. He _looked_ human, but Peter Quill had only seen four other humans in the past twenty years, most of  _those_ just before he got here, so that wasn’t likely. “Asgardian?”

“No.”

“You’re human?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Well, what’s your name, Angel?” Probably not the best thing to ask the man he was now realizing was armed to the teeth – was that a prosthetic or armour? – but he’d had worse reactions. 

The man looked as if he wasn’t quite sure how to answer, face scrunched slightly. “James Barnes.”

“Quill… I mean, I’m Peter. Peter Quill.” That got him a nod and a handshake, slow and solid. “Huh… So, is this – what? – hell? Purgatory?”

“I dunno. Are we dead, Kansas?”

“Man, I just watched my face dissolve from the inside. With my _mind_.” He hadn’t meant for it to come off with so much emphasis, but Peter thought the _‘-duh’_ at the end of mind underscored his point pretty well. “So, yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re dead.”

“I used to wonder about that sometimes…” James was pulling his knees in now, arms hugging around them. He hunched forward, hair falling into his face. Huh. No wings, but he did have a helluva lot of fire power, there.

Peter had a better look at his arm, now, too; definitely prosthetic. The other man was human, which, given the complete lack of them anywhere else in the galaxy, probably meant he was from Earth. What were the odds? He’d only seen four other humans in the last twenty odd years, and this _wasn’t_ one of the fuck-heads he’d met on Titan. Things were looking up, if only a bit. He was fucking nowhere, solid, but probably dead, and this guy was the only thing around for literally as far as he could see. “So were you on Earth?”

The guy nodded. It was a long shot – probably impossible, but at this point? Worth asking. “‘Cause I’m from there, too, and I’m looking for some friends…”

That got him a huff and an eyeroll from James – who looked more like a _Jamie_ ; James was too fucking formal – along with a snappy response. “I don’t know how long you’ve been gone, Pete, but there are over 8 _billion_ people on that rock. I kinda doubt I saw 'em.”

“Okay, fine.” Jackass was definitely going to be Jamie from here on; asshole had called him ‘ _Pete.’_ “Were there any news briefs about an angry _tree_ nager? A teenaged tree, about five feet tall? Or a pissed off racoon in a jumpsuit? Probably cursing a blue streak?”

Jamie blinked, head tilting to the side. “Uh… cocky little fucker with a big gun? He offered to buy my arm.”

“Yes! That’s him!”

“They showed up with Thor. Your squad?”

“Yeah… You haven’t seen ‘em since?” He gestured vaguely to the blank void around them, arms dropping when the shorter man shook his head. Peter set his jaw. He’d find them, if they were here. His memory of those last moments was choppy, muddled by rage, fear, and the swift degradation of his senses, but he thought some of them had been left behind. Douche canoe in the robot suit. Gamora’s crazy sister. Maybe it was a good thing not to see any of the crew. They might have wound up somewhere safer.

“You seen mine?” James slipped a thin photo wallet out from one of his pockets, passing it to Peter with more than a bit of trepidation. There were only three pictures in it; a glossy new one, of James looking exhausted, shirtless, hair down, leaning against some guy dressed like the Fourth of July come to life; one of him standing next to same guy, both men in military uniforms, looking far less scruffy, but also like it had been photocopied out of a book or something; and a third that looked old, James in the same uniform, next to... wait, was that the same guy? “Best friend and selfless idiot. Been getting’ me in trouble for a century.” He shrugged into a rueful snort, plucking the photos from Peter’s hands, and tucking them back away.

“You said you’re human? Those look old as hell. You gotta be ancient, man.”

“Sometimes I think I am.”

“Huh.” That wasn’t much of an answer. “So… now what?”

“Guess we wait, Pete.” James crossed his legs, getting comfortable on the floor. The man pushed his hair out of his face, only for it to drift back down moments later, the shifting curtain of dark brown falling into his eyes. He pulled a knife from one of his myriad holsters, beginning to spin it in his metal hand.

⸙•☆•⸙

James didn’t know which of the many pockets he had pulled it from, but he was going to grab that fucking ball and smash it. He lifted his head briefly, watching Pete bounce the little rubber ball, again; in his hand, on the boot, in his hand, on the boot. _Fuck_. Couldn’t the man just twiddle his thumbs in silence? “Why am I stuck here with _you_?”

“Well, hey, at least you’re not alone, right?” The bouncing stopped, and James thought, perhaps, that he might be saved. Only to catch sight, just from the corner of his eye, of the other man retrieving the little rubber ball from where it had bounced into his boot.

“I’m used to being alone.” He dropped his face back down onto the floor, groaning out another sigh.

Quill sounded way too fucking cheery as he answered. “Yeah, well we can’t all enjoy an endless void of solitude, alright?”

Well, screw him, anyway. “… never said I enjoyed it.”

“What?”

James finally picked his face up off the floor, chin resting in the crook of his metal elbow. “Said I was used to it. Never said I enjoyed it.”

“Ghuu… You are _infuriating!_ ” The man threw the ball at his face.

“And you’re too fuckin loud, Kansas!” Grasping the ball in his prosthetic hand, James pressed, feeling the ball squish and deform in his palm before reaching its tensile limit and breaking, almost crumbling, leaving the pieces to drop from his palm onto the blankness.

“For shit’s sake; I’m from _Missouri._ ” He could tell the moment the other man realized what he’d done, watched as the boot was snatched up and yanked back on. “And fuck you!”

“You wish, cornfed.”

⸙•☆•⸙

It took, by James’s estimate, another three days before it all went to shit.

“I can’t stay here.” One moment, and the guy had been sitting back to back with him; the next he had one of James’s guns in his grip, already far too close to his face. “I don’t wanna be stuck here without them. I need… I need to get out of this place and find her.”

“C’mon, Kansas, this is crazy talkin’ right now.” Pete was quicker than he looked, even with the coat on. James kept his hands palm up, advancing slowly. “Put it down, alright?”

“No. I don’t… I don’t know what we had – if it was love, friendship, I dunno!” He loosed his grip only long enough to push his bangs back out of his eyes – not enough time for James to close the space between them. The taller man’s voice was tremulous, despairing, thick and wet, like Pete was choking on his tongue. “I dunno, but it was… special, and I miss them. I miss _her_. And she sure as hell isn’t here!”

“And what if she ain’t there, either, huh?” How had _James_ wound up as the voice of reason in this situation? Had every other man on the planet lost his god-damn _mind_ while he was under all those years? “What then, you fuckin’ punk?”

“Well at least I’ll know.” He smiled, then, the sad sort of resigned smile James had seen too many times – on Steve’s face, Stark’s, Barton’s, his own – not to know that Pete was going try something really fucking stupid. Quill nodded to himself. “And you’ll finally have this god-damned place all to yourself.”

“No… No! Pete, don’t-!” James knew what to expect – knew what it would be – but it was wrong, here. The world slowed, tilted, leaving the shattered remnants of Pete’s face hanging in the air. A suspension of blood, bone, and viscera, one perfect eye adrift on a strand of nerve, teeth bloodied and jaw hanging, bullet just emerging through thick brown hair, blooming a wet flower of pink and red. Then gone, winked out of existence, leaving James Barnes staring out into the empty expanse of infinity.

The gun clattered to the ground, the only movement in the void.

⸙•☆•⸙

Peter Quill opened his eyes, both still in his head, tongue running over teeth and jaw and palette, ears sore like they were still ringing. “Sonovabitch, that hurt!”

There was a pounding, not in his head, but echoing off the nothing of the floor, before James – who was back to looking like a fucking Murder Angel, again – Barnes leaned over him, face a swirl of anguish and rage, metal hand fisting in Peter’s collar and hauling him upright. “You- You motherfucker, why did you _do_ that?”

“‘s not like you didn’t want to be alone.” He was half choked, being actively shaken, fighting not to bite his tongue as he was hoisted to standing. The shorter man was stronger than he looked, lifting him enough that Peter dangled a moment – feet off the ground – before Jamie released him. “Still kinda stings.”

“Shut the fuck up!” He was grabbed again, hands on both his shoulders, pulling him down to eye level. Jamie’s cheeks were wet, reflecting anger, and something else, small, almost lost, matching the bereft tone in his voice. “I just watched your head explode, Peter; you died in front of me...”

He trailed off, loosening his grip, arms dropping to wrap around himself as he stepped back. His voice was barely a whisper, more a hitching wheeze. “You… you would… would rather try to kill yourself than be stuck with me..?”

“What?” That hadn’t been the point, had it? Of course not. He had only meant- It was just that he’d wanted to- He hadn’t thought about leaving Jamie alone, but… “No, no, I just don’t want to be here.”

“And you were so desperate to get out that you took my gun, and then _shot_ yourself?” What might have started with Jamie hugging himself had settled into a rigid hunch; arms crossed, shoulders tight, head down. The guy looked moments away from tackling him, and Peter didn’t like his odds. If Jamie got him on the ground, he was toast, and he knew it.

The shorter man stepped up into his space, somehow managing to look down his nose while glaring up, voice implacable as he shoved his gun back into Peter’s hand. “My turn…”

“What?”

Metal fingers wrapped around his, forcing him to grip the pistol, even as Jamie aligned the barrel with his own forehead. “Go on. Do it.”

“What?! No!” Peter pushed with his free hand, though it wasn’t at all effective. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, so it’s okay to off _yourself_ , but when I ask you go all chicken shit?!” Jamie took another step forward.

The barrel pressed fully flush against his skin. Peter fought down a shudder. “I’m not shooting you in the head.”

“Fine.” Snatching the gun back, Barnes spun it down into the holster at his hip, turning on his heel. “I’ll just go. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

⸙•☆•⸙

“Jamie! James! Please… please stop… ” It had been hours. Not that Peter could track time here – not in any way that made sense – but there was a growing ache in his calves, a numbness in his heels, that let him know he’d been standing, _walking_ , for hours. Jamie just kept going, moving with the single-minded determination of a machine, steps never faltering, never ceasing, constantly moving him farther from wherever Peter was. He’d tried to outflank him, run around him, _catch_ him, but to no avail; Murder Angel was un-fucking-stoppable, and he was just so damn tired. “I’m sorry, and I… don’t leave me alone in here? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Neither do I.” He didn’t turn around, didn’t actually _stop_ , but he did slow his pace enough that Peter was able to catch up with him.

Peter was reticent to reach out to him, but he needed some kind of proof – especially here – that the man was really there. He laid a tentative hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Then… could you stop walking? Please?”

“You don’t want to try shooting yourself out of here, then?”

“James… I just… it’s a lot, okay?” Peter threw his hands out, turning a slow backwards circle, volume steadily rising. “Everyone I know is dead, or I’m dead, and I have no fucking idea where we are, and I panicked, okay?!”

Tucking his hair behind his ear, the other man glanced back, head tilted as he finally stopped walking. He crossed his arms, right hand grasping left wrist, as he considered Peter. There was still something dark in his gaze, but – after the barest of nods – it became somewhat less severe. “I forget, sometimes; most people aren’t used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Waking up not knowing where or when the hell you are.”

“Is that…” Now it was Peter’s turn to stare. “Is that _normal_ for you?!”

Jamie didn’t answer him. Instead, he dropped, first into a crouch, and then to seated, settling rigidly before leaning back on his arms with a heavy sigh. “Sit down, Pete. We should talk.”

⸙•☆•⸙

The new routine into which they settled was a simple one: They walked, they stopped, and, every odd day or so, it was all guessing at time here, Pete needed to sleep. James couldn’t sleep here, not really. Without cover – the sightlines were literally infinite – without a wall, or a bunk, something to lean against, tip up, or duck under, he could never silence the vigilant screaming in his brain. He best option was to lie down, waiting until Pete fell asleep, then assume a prone sniping position, gun at the ready, and drift. He’d done it dozens of times on missions; it wasn’t sleep, it barely counted as rest, but it was enough. He was functional. If, in all honesty, at less than his best.

At about a half day’s worth of walking, he would usually get irritable, Pete’s incessant mumbling not helping in the slightest. Today, though, at least the other man had found a reason to speak.

“Do you see that, too?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t help the automaticity of the reaction, left arm thrust out to halt the man beside him out of habit. Even when he dropped it, he slid his fingers down to grasp Pete’s wrist, pulling the other man behind him, ignoring the confused, affronted _“Really?”_   hissed into his ear.

He released the other man’s hand but kept his protective position. “We don’t know that it’s playing by the same rules. Shit ain’t exactly normal around here.”

With Quill still behind him, they advanced at a quick jog, weapons drawn, on the dark thing ahead of them. James had thought to call out – it looked like it could be another person – but he couldn’t risk it. If there was such a thing as luck, it was the only reason he had found Pete in the first place; he couldn’t trust fate to be any sort of kind a second time. They were closer now, and he could finally see the shape of the unknown thing. James tried not to be embarrassed when the possible menace from which he’d thought to guard Pete turned out to be a coat.

The brown peacoat was well made – clearly tailored for someone a bit slimmer, if much taller, than he was – with patches on the elbows; worn, but well loved. Checking the pockets, James found a few crumpled dollar bills, a receipt for hearing aid batteries, and a large purple hairclip with a bow on it. Nothing else that spoke to who might have owned it, or why it was here.

James folded the coat, tossing it over his arm. It might not fit him well, but it could be useful. Not point just leaving it. The clip, on the other hand; that he could use. Catching his bangs in his hands, he pulled them up, snapping the clip around them to at least keep them out of his eyes.

“Guess someone figured you don’t need a heavy coat in heaven, huh?”

“We are clearly _not_ in heaven, Pete.” He’d have seen Becca or his Ma by now, if that were the case. Probably Ms. Sarah, too; they were all good souls, even if he and Stevie had wound up as hopeless fucks. Definitely not heaven. “Hell, maybe?”

“Seems pretty tame for hell...” Peter nodded out at the nothing.

“Wandering in an infinite void, alone for all eternity?” He snorted. “Pretty damn hellish.”

“Well, yeah... But we're not.”

Which, while they might not have found anyone else, was true. They had managed to find each other. “Guess you’re right.”

“Yeah. And at least now we know there’s maybe other people around here, right? Might be streakers, though; I mean, who just leaves a coat?”

Shooting the taller man a derisive glare – _Streakers? Really? –_ he started back up walking.

Pete strode up beside him, easily keeping pace on longer legs. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” James looked askance at him with a snort.

“Loom _up_ at people.” Pete stepped ahead of him right up into strike range as James stilled, then closer, until he had to noticeably bend his neck to meet James’ now full-on glare. “How’d you learn that?”

He knew he wasn’t the biggest guy, but he was really starting to hate this half-a-head height difference he seemed to keep having with other men he met. Taking a step back would have been more comfortable, but he wasn’t one to cede ground. He closed the foot of space between them, fighting a smirk when Pete took the smallest step back. “Watched a short buddy of mine do it for years. Once he got bigger, just sorta happened. Pretty sure I was born looming, but I got a few tips from him. Watched Ms. Carter a lot, too.”

“Huh. Makes sense.” The taller man nodded, hand coming up to his chin. “Must be a lotta women that have to learn to do that. Maybe I oughtta ask Ga-” He froze halfway through the name, voice going tremulous. Pete backed up, turning in a swirl of maroon leather coat tails.

“Pete?” The other man didn’t go far, just a few metres away, but it was enough distance to be purposeful. James tapped his weapons out of habit, saw that Pete’s was still holstered, and relaxed. He moved to stand behind him, flesh hand giving his back a light touch. “Peter?”

“I’m fine!” Quill shook his head, pulling away, again. “I’m fine… just gimme a second, okay?”

“C’mere.” James didn’t buy that for a moment. He grabbed the man’s arm this time, pulling him into a sideways hug. When Pete didn’t try to move away a second time, he tugged the other man down with him, settling them both on the floor. “We can take a break, yeah? Probably ought to get some rest.”

“Fine, but only if you do it, too.” Pete’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “You’re probably getting so jumpy ‘cause you need a nap.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I mean... I don’t sleep, Pete.” James shook his head, tried to ignore the gobsmacked look his companion was giving him. “I haven’t slept since we got here... not really.”

“The hell, Jamie, seriously?” Pete scooted back, but kept staring at him. The other man pulled his knees in, leaning over them as he spoke. “I’ve slept – what? – at least a couple weeks’ worth of times? And I’m not running on an Earth clock… how are you even functional?”

“I told ya about the whole super soldier thing. ‘s a side effect of the serum.” One of the less unpleasant side-effects of the whole process, really. James had missed sleeping well, missed sleeping _at all_ since he got here, but it wasn’t as bad as closing his eyes completely might be. The last time that had happened... “Batch was bootleg Nazi garbage, but it means I don’t really gotta sleep. Least not for a while, and not all the way.”

“Yeah, but,” Pete tapped a finger on his leg, smiling like one would to a petulant child, “being unconscious for a little bit might make you less of a grump, dontcha think, Jamie?”

“I…” What was it with blue-eyed guys waltzing into his life and calling him on his shit? This was becoming a pattern, now. Of course, Pete’s concerned little smile came without any of the guilt of Stevie’s. James had to look away; he didn’t like knowing that he had put that look there, not on anyone’s face, even this show-offy nuisance. “When you’ve been out of control of your mind a long while… ceding that control is difficult.”

When he did finally look up, Pete’s brows were furrowed in thought, his hand still resting on James’ leg. There was a moment of quiet concentration before Pete’s eyes lit with an epiphany, Quill’s brows raising, cheeks lifted as a brilliant – nigh on giddy – smile spread across his face, one word tumbling out – “Here.” – before gloved hands settled on his arms and pulled him back onto the floor. He snatched the coat from James’ arm, wadding it under his head as a makeshift pillow. Even once they were both lying down, Pete kept a grasp on his right hand, not holding tightly, but there. “See? I’ll wake you up if it looks like something’s happening.”

James blinked, staring from the man lying beside him, down to their clasped hands, then back up at Quill’s face. His incredulity must have come across plainly, by the way the other man fidgeted.

“Dude, I get that you’re right-handed, but...” Pete shrugged as best he could while laying down. “Look, I'm not saying I don't trust you, but the whole robot hand thing..?” He motioned to James’ left arm with his free hand. “Yeah, little dicey on my fleshy meat parts. You squeeze my hand with that, and it’s gonna break for sure, and, dammit Jim, I'm not a doctor.”

“What?” James shook his head. This guy was clearly losing his mind – spewing nonsense _while_ holding his hand like that.

"Guessing they didn’t thaw you out for television breaks, then. Right, okay, just... just try to get comfortable, and I’ll keep an eye out for streakers without coats or whatever.”

“And when you fall asleep?”

“I’m a cuddler; once I’ve got one hand on you, I won’t be letting go, so it’ll happen to both of us, at least?” He didn’t even try to protest that he would stay awake, only giving James’ hand a light squeeze. Pete scootched down, resting his head on the shoulder of his extended arm, stretched out on his side. He winked, clicking his tongue. “Just don’t forget that and clock me with the fist of fury.”

“Sure.” It would be easy to shove the guy away, if he wanted to. Having a tether, though – something to ground him, to block out the pervading _nothing_ of this place – might help, a little. The man had been crazy enough to off himself – no _try_ about it, even if it hadn’t been permanent – so, if he wanted to risk it holding James Barnes’ hand, he wasn’t going to try and change his mind. “Whatever you say, Pete.”

⸙•☆•⸙

Time dragged on, even as it lost any residual meaning for them both. The moments ran into each other, unbroken by the need to eat or drink, or even stop to take a piss.  He found some ordnance that turned out to be live – definitely not Heaven, or there wouldn’t have been landmines.

Feeling the searing heat, watching as flesh and sinew unwrapped from shattering bone, only to hang, still and glistening in the air shot right past surreal and cosmic, would have left him speechless if he hadn’t already been screaming. Seeing all of that reverse, as bone knit and flesh slid back into place, as the shockwave collapsed inward to reform that perfect mine? That had been a sisyphean nightmare come to life. The realignment of time had put him right back where he was, foot hovering over it as his returned momentum sent him forward, yet, again – and, though he’d stepped on it once before already, James was only mildly shocked to find he was not yet actually dead.

Pete had yanked him away the third time, pulled him to the side to keep the loop from repeating. He'd been too stunned to offer thanks.

Whatever was happening or had happened or might happen outside of it, this place seemed to be holding them physically in stasis. Death had no meaning, but neither did life. James existed, in only the barest sense; at once both trapped in the endlessness and freer than he ever had been.

They had found a few other things on the way – a paper bag with half a tuna-salad sandwich inside, which according to Pete tasted like cardboard and cat food; a backpack, which they kept, stuffed full of twenties, which they left; a few bullet casings and nearly empty med kit – but no sign of anyone else alive and present.

It left a lot of time for conversation.

⸙•☆•⸙

He tugged at Jamie’s shoulder rig, signalling he was about ready to take a break. Peter wasn’t tired, exactly, but he was sick of walking for the moment. He sat, back to back with his travelling companion – a must, since there was nothing to perch or lean on, and a guy could only lean so long on his arms – staring back the way they’d come. Not that there was any difference, regardless of direction anyway. He stretched, bracing against James’ back, feeling a satisfying pop in his shoulder.

It would be good to get back. They would; he was sure of it. Even if the old dude and kid in the robot suits had been a bust, there had to be some of his crew left out there. He’d seen Drax and Mantis start to go, same as him, but Rocket and Groot had made it back to Earth. Might still be there. Strange thought, that they made it back before he did. “Was it hard?”

He could feel Jamie’s shoulders shift, one pulling away. He must have looked back. “Was what hard?”

“You know… getting connected back with people? Reintegrating?” He hadn’t seen Earth in two decades, at least. Jamie hadn’t talked about it much – he said he’d missed a lot of it, anyway – but Peter thought it would be nice to get back, in as much as he could.

“Why?” Barnes popped his shoulder back, metal knocking solidly into his shoulder blade. “Thinkin’ about tryin’ it?”

“That was the plan. Get out, get a ship, go home.” How many years had he spent, saving money, getting a ship, scrounging for directions; a path, a sign, another something that looked nearly as human as Kraglin? To come up empty, or just a bit too late, or worse, to have followed a dead trail. “Just… kept gettin’ side-tracked. There was always one more deal, one more job. Next thing I know, there’s a ship and a crew, and people expecting me to be responsible.”

Jamie snorted; he could feel the other man’s laughter against his back.

“Yeah, fuck you, Jim.” He leaned back heavily, stretching his arms up and draping himself over Jamie’s back, letting all his weight rest on the other man as he sunk into an exaggerated flop. “We can’t all be young and carefree.”

The support behind him pulled away, metal hand grabbing him and yanking him to the side, even as the shorter man kept laughing. “I am a centenarian.”

“Yeah, well…  I had a crazy alien dad, so I had to grow up fast.” He almost punched Jamie in the shoulder, but pulled it in time, opting to just smack his chest. He rolled back up to seated, giving the guy another shove for good measure.

When Jamie’s low chuckles finally stopped, he smirked back. “So alien dad, huh? Did that ever make things… awkward, later?” There was a strange wiggle to his brows that Peter couldn’t quite place.

“Whadya mean?”

“Shit, Pete. You know…” Barnes tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, vaguely waving his hands toward his lap. “I grew up in a house full of women, but they were at least human, so I got _some_ kinda explanation about all those goings on. I mean, nobody wants the VD talk from their best friend’s mom, but-”

“Wait, what?”

“She was a nurse, and she was very thorough… don’t get me wrong, she was still two or three years too late, but at least she knew _humans_ , right?”

Peter couldn’t help the high-pitched snort, nor the hitched, wheezing laugh that followed. This was one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever heard. “You got the _talk_ from your friend’s _mom_? The tiny Irish Catholic lady? What even-?”

“It’s not funny, punk!” Jamie cuffed him in the shoulder, sending Peter windmilling, even at he kept laughing. The guy’s entire face was beginning to flush, pink spreading up from his neck and down from his ears. “I kept checking to make sure my dick wasn’t gonna fall off for weeks after that. Had to get help just in case…”

“Wait, wait… by help… do you mean…?” James could not be serious about this whole thing, unless… “Holy shit, you had your buddy check your dick for the clap?”

Hidden behind the fall of his hair, Jamie muttered. “Syphilis.”

It was too much. The image of this guy – this literal murder machine – trying to talk his friend into checking out his junk for VD? Peter was in actual pain, heaving and gasping, dizziness rising in him as he fought against the swells of laughter for air.  “Ho-” He struggled, trying to make his lungs obey him, leaning back onto Jamie in need of actual support as he finally got the last few giggles and wheezes under control. “That is the funniest shit, man- Jeez! How… How are you still friends?”

“I had to give him _the talk_ again after he got all huge and folks started swoonin.’ Plus, I gave him half of the rubbers in my kit. Pretty sure that makes up for it…” Barnes was still curled up on himself, though he hazarded a glance back at him, sounding a bit bolder as he asked. “So you got the whole birds and bees and relationship talk from aliens?”

“There was one human guy on the crew, but he wasn't exactly helpful. And no, I got the birds and the bees and the tentacles and the screaming talk from the aliens.” It had, in truth, been less of a talk, and more of a disturbingly observation-heavy apprenticeship. Not that he would scoff at having learned what he had – and being pretty damn good at putting that knowledge to use – but Peter knew it hadn’t been the best thing for a twelve-year-old. “Didn't really get the whole relationship thing. Kind of had to work that out on my own.”

“How's that going for you?”

He gave an exaggerated shrug, head shaking. “Going to be honest with you, not that great.”

“Mm.” His companion nodded back, and they both looked away, until Jamie finally glanced in his direction, again, curiosity plain on his face. “So screaming? Good screaming?”

“Nope. The number of beings that want to eat a piece off of you during or after is frightening.”

“Wait, like a mantis?” At his nod, Jamie blanched. “Can’t imagine it’d be all that filling, though, if it was your head.”

“Fuck you, Jim.”

The silence stretched between them, rushing into the few inches separating their sides, filling it until it was cavernous. Jamie pulled in one knee – leaning over it, leaving the other leg straight out – and began spinning his knife. After ten or twelve flicks, Peter laid down, eyes closed, arms crossed behind his head. He didn’t enjoy the quiet, not like James, but it was alright for now. Filling the silence was only going to get them down paths he had no wish to tread.

“So you and, um… Ga…?”

“Gamora.” Like that one. _Fuck it._ He didn’t bother opening his eyes, opting to just answer the question and get it over with. “Yeah, no, I mean… maybe… Not that I think it woulda worked, but… I still. There was something there. Maybe more infatuation?”

Of course, it had been more than that. Gamora had pushed him, threatened him. Gotten up in his space in a way that was startling and awkward and off-putting; a way that would have made anyone with half a lick of sense back up or run, but for Peter, there was just… “Something about somebody graceful that can just kick your ass and dress you down at the same time, right? But that you also know has your back, even if you’re being a jackass and screwing everything up.”

“That sounds almost sweet.”

He could hear the surprise in Jamie’s voice, but he didn’t blame the guy. Peter knew he could be – _was_ – an asshole a lot of days. “Surprising, right? Shocked me, too.”

“Oh? So no romancing for you, even with the screaming and the tentacles?” There was a light poke to his shoulder.

“Naw.” He lifted one hand to push his hair back into place. “That’s kinda like eating when you’re hungry, sleeping when you’re tired. Plus, half the time it was for work, or they wanted to shoot me in the morning.”

“You’re serious?”

“Have the scars to prove it.” Peter opened his eyes, focusing on James long enough to shrug before he sat up. No point in trying to rest if the other man had decided that _now_ he wanted to keep talking. “What about you? Glaring down the bar work out well for you back in the day?”

“I can-” Jamie cleared his throat, expression vaguely proud. “I could be pretty smooth, when I wanted to be. Kinda out of practice for a while. But, hell, I can still dance.”

“Yeah?”

“Gimme the coat.”

Pulling the spare peacoat out of their backpack, Peter handed it over, though he’d no idea what the shorter man planned to do with it.

Barnes shook the coat out at arms’ length, grasping it at the shoulder and waist – like it was a flat person – before starting to softly hum to himself. By the tune, pacing slow and smooth, not quite jazzy, it was probably a song he’d known when he was younger. He spun with the coat, feet executing a complicated series of steps, looking like he ought to be in one of the old-timey dancehalls Peter had seen in classic movies as a kid. He honestly had no idea how the dances were supposed to go, and Jamie could have been making it all up at his went, but his movements were smooth, and his voice was pleasant, at least. At the end of the song, he gave the coat a little twirl, then dipped it, before draping it back over his arm.

To the soft series of claps Peter found himself giving, he offered the tiniest of bows, accompanied by a genuine smile that actually made him look his age, and made Peter’s stomach flutter. He looked good; and it hadn’t hurt that, while not looking at all murderous right now, Jaime had looked pretty adorable when he was concentrating on his footwork.

“Bet that made the ladies – whatcha call it? – swoon?”

“Yeah.” Pulling his hair back with the bow-clip, Jaime shook his head. “Not that I really cared what the ladies thought. Mostly that was work to get Stevie a date.”

“Huh.”

⸙•☆•⸙

James Barnes opened his eyes, greeting his fellow traveller, before he was left trying to talk to newly emptied air.

It had, James thought, been an innocuous statement. Nothing poetic, or out of the ordinary, but it certainly wasn’t offensive. _“Good morning.”_ He hadn't meant to drop the bedroom voice, or to stretch partway through, but he’d just woken up; the voice was bound to happen, and popping his back had felt too good not to follow up with a little sigh. Maybe he _had_ thought it _was_ particularly good, seeing that silly half-grin, when he woke up; and, no, maybe it wasn’t the smoothest line ever, but how did one even _try_ to flirt in a featureless void, anyway?

And Pete? He’d figured the guy would do his usual grousing, or drop a shitty morning breath joke, again; he seemed to be able to make a joke – not always a good one, but he tried – out of something nearly every day. But Pete had frozen, looking down at him, slack-jawed and gawping, eyes going wide for a moment before his hand tapped against the side of his cheek, starting the mask shimmering over his face.

James sat up behind him, fighting the knots out of his hair with his flesh hand; the metal always snagged and snapped any tangles it hit. Pete had half rolled to seated, facing away from him. Had he fucked up that badly? Misread whatever was happening in this nightmarish nothing space? “You're quiet this morning.”

“Thought you liked it when I was quiet?” Pete shrugged, voice only just modulated through the mask; even repeated through a digital filter, the tension was heavy in his voice.

“It's concerning.” James stared at the back of his head, but the taller man only reached back to pop his collar, further hiding himself. With a sighing breath, he sat up, scooting to sit next to him, hand resting lightly on his sleeve. “Pete… take the mask off.”

“No…” Looking particularly childish, Quill turned away, arms hugging around his knees.

 “C’mon, Pete. That ain’t fair, ya know?” James found himself moving, again, now sitting beside him having sidled close enough that their knees were almost touching. “I left mine back on the other side. I can’t hide my face even if I wanna, an’ I’m pretty pissed you can. Take it off, huh?”

He didn’t turn away, but did slump a bit farther, only the red lenses over his eyes now visible above his arms. “I’ve got my mask; you’ve got your hair.”

“Yeah, which fucks my peripheral vision and still shows my face.” A bit more manoeuvring, and he was facing Pete, both sitting with their legs crossed, knees a hair’s breadth from touching. He tapped ineffectually at the side of the man’s mask – James had seen Pete do something similar to snap it on – before his hand was batted away.

Pete flicked his hand over the lower side of the mask, nano-tech or whatever it was dissolving away, leaving him to stare back into blue eyes, petulant and guarded. “Happy?”

“No. Fuck is wrong with you this morning?” At his wince, James realized that had probably come across as more angry than confused; he hadn’t exactly been emotionally aware, let alone stable, for very long before the whole alien invasion, existential crisis thing. He tried to soften the words with action, resting a hand lightly on Pete’s knee.

At least the man didn’t flinch away, even if he startled at the touch. Quill pressed his lips together, looking out at the nothing over James’ shoulder. “Just the way you looked at me… Like you were glad I was here.”

“I _was_ glad you were here. _Am_ glad. I don’t know that – every time I close my eyes – I won’t just wake up nowhere and alone… or not at all!” There was more to that, of course, but now wasn’t the time for it. They were stuck together; even _he_ couldn’t handle very long in a place like this on his own. James knew he needed to smooth this over. “Shit, Pete, I was still coming to terms with reality before all this... _this_ happened.”

“Oh.” Quill’s face darkened, brows dropping, jaw clenched, looking almost hurt. His voice was bitter, mocking as he pushed himself up off the floor. “Well, glad I can be good company, at least.”

“Well, yeah.” He followed, standing quickly enough that his back and shoulder echoed with a series of protesting pops. James laid a light pat on the back of his shoulder. “Waking up to your shit-eating grin ain’t so bad.”

He wasn’t prepared – How could he have been? – for Pete to round on him, suddenly far too close as he looked down, confusion and hurt, and something that might have been fear and might have been hope, flickering across his face.

James thought to duck his head, even if only to hide behind his hair, but that would have set him knocking right into Pete’s chin. He took a measured step backward, even as the other man followed, moving forward to close the gap, again. His voice wasn’t raised, wasn’t even at normal volume, but it demanded an answer. “Is it not bad or… Or is it _good_ , James?”

Now he _did_ look down, eyes focused on boots, letting his hair fall to cover his face, even as one of Pete’s hands reached forward to settled on his shoulder.

“It- It’s...” James cleared his throat, peaking tentatively through a curtain of brown, hoping he wasn’t misreading this. “It’s good, Peter. It’s real fuckin’ good.”

The tension bled off of Pete, leaving his face softer, his voice a bare whisper. “Yeah?”

James wasn’t sure what his own face was doing at the moment – it felt like some version of a smile, with a dash of embarrassment – but whatever Pete saw there prompted him to lean in, his other hand tucking under James’ chin, positioning them so that their foreheads were just touching, and he could feel the other man’s breath on his lips.

“Yeah.”

Peter closed that last bit of distance, and James closed his eyes. The kiss was tentative, both stuttering forward in wary, jerking leans. He wasn’t sure about the man currently nipping at his lower lip, but he knew he was out of practice. Their noses bumped, his own scratched by the stubble above Pete’s lip as he tried to press closer, going up on tiptoe to compensate for his height just as Quill had been bending further down. Their teeth knocked together, and Pete pulled away, giggling, head ducking into the crook of his neck.

Despite that abrupt end of that first kiss, James felt himself smiling, pressing another to the hollow behind Pete’s ear. “What? The scruff bother you?”

“No, no, just…” The other man leaned back to look at him, smile wide, giddy and embarrassed. “That was my first human kiss…!”

“Yeah?” A more confident man would have been satisfied by that knowledge and his partner’s reaction, but James needed to know. “How was it?”

“Good. Real good, Jamie.” In all the uncountable days, he couldn’t remember having actually seen Pete blush. “Real real good.”

“Not ‘real _fuckin’_ good?’” He felt the oddly familiar taunting edge creep into his voice; James remembered this dance. Still lifted on his toes, he slid his metal left hand around Peter’s waist to the small of his back, cupping the man’s cheek with his right, pulling him in, again. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

⸙•☆•⸙

There was a lot that was missing in this place, but, at least here, there was still time. Even if it was only their perception of time, it mattered. They needed to sleep, himself more than Jamie, and it was that need that kept them to a schedule, even without any way of keeping time; Peter sleeping, always with Jamie’s hand in his, if not with the man curled in solidly against his back. Despite being timeless, this place had forced them into a routine, and Peter knew the moment it was disrupted.

He’d been asleep when it started, woken up to see his free hand shimmering away into the nothing, to hear the rising panic in his own voice. “Jamie?!”

“Yeah, me, too, Pete.” The metal arm around his waist tightened; Peter could feel the squeeze of the real fingers still twined in his.

“When?”

“Just now.” Was he shaking? Was Jamie? He couldn’t tell, could only feel the shuddering breath against the back of his neck, the firm weight of the other man as he curled closer, even as the press of his legs lessened and disappeared. “Just woke up.”

“James… I don’t… I don’t know where we’re even-” He could sense it, even if there was no real sense to it, when his bottom jaw went, taking his speech, leaving him only able to listen and clutch.

“I don’t either, but I’ll find you. Wherever it is, I’ll find-” James’ words bled out into nothing as Peter felt the last of his face go. Even so, he knew he held on; he held on until there was neither hand to hold nor to be held.

⸙•☆•⸙

Peter Quill opened his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did drop a few little easter eggs from other fics in here just for purpose. Hope they weren't too distracting.


End file.
